


it begins

by dekkaisdefyinggravity



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, M/M, Other, There are probably other characters idk man, probably poor characterisation tbh i havent written very much for these guys im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dekkaisdefyinggravity/pseuds/dekkaisdefyinggravity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space AU - Enjolras and Combeferre are together. Grantaire has a crush on Enjolras (haha Combeferre? why would he ever crush on Combe- oh shit.)</p><p>Reads sort of like the first chapter of a longer work but it can work as a oneshot I hope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	it begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perrysian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perrysian/gifts).



The Musain had once been a government vessel - nobody knew which government except for Prouvaire, who kept all information about hir previous life very close to hir chest. As the ship wix, zie was entitled to - arguably the most vital crew member, a ship wix would open up wormholes by channeling their magic through ship equipment, allowing intergalactic travel with relative ease. Jehan had not grown up training to be a space wix however - that was plain to see from some of hir more violent skills. What zie had grown up as, nobody knew.

The government the Musain had once belonged to didn’t matter any more, anyway. It had been stripped of paint and any identifying markers a long time ago - illegal in all governments, but space was vast and they only rarely were forced to venture into occupied territory. Their nutrient farm required little upkeep, and their mechanics were skilled. 

The Musain and its crew were searching primarily for the other life that logic dictated should be out there. Grantaire was, at this particular point in time, searching for the wineroom, which appeared to be hiding from him. Being that the engine was at peak condition (as was the captain’s rhetoric - too bright for his eyes) his level of sobriety was quite unnecessary. Cruel, even. 

He was certain, absolutely certain, that he was directly above the medical bay. He was equally certain that the wineroom had always been there before. The apparent library in its place was, therefore, a total shock. He called Combeferre for help. 

“I am where the wineroom should be, but the wineroom is elsewhere. There are books where there should be alcohol, and though I have nothing against books, I am rather confused.” 

“Hello, Grantaire.” His face on the tablet had showed no change, and there was no audible sigh, but even so his reaction was plain. He sounded perfectly neutral when he said, “Joly requested that the library be moved - she was concerned about its proximity to the engines. The bar is in the library’s old slot. Your shift did begin half an hour ago - unless there has been a rearrangement that I was not informed of?” 

No judgement in his voice or face - not even really in his words. No actual question, no obligation to answer. He did so anyway. 

“Everything is in perfect condition, I promise you. Have a good day.” He flicked the tablet off, turned on his heel, and made his way towards his workplace. 

Once at his workplace, he carried on for three more doors, entered, and proceeded to drink as much as he could while retaining his ability to work. Delegation was a wonderful, wonderful thing. He still took care to stop when his reflexes got too slow. This was a much better condition to work in anyway - his hands were steady now. 

Task completed, Grantaire felt able to return to work. He returned to the engine room where his second had been left in charge, and received the report of no changes with a perfect lack of surprise - Combeferre was always so pedantic about these things. Shocking things rarely happened in the engine-room, and nothing had ever truly threatened the ship. This was an entirely calm stretch of space, the calmest that they had come across for a while - in the outlaw zone as they were. He intended to relax as much as possible in these few weeks. 

 

* * *

 

 

At the communications room, Combeferre set down his tablet after Grantaire’s call and was promptly swept up in a wave of the-transmitters-maybe-picked-something-up-oh-my-goodness-this-could-be-it. Feuilly had caught an unencrypted message being broadcast from an upcoming solar system, and a quick sweep for standard trojan horse markers deemed it clean, so the department was diverting all energy to the more in-depth tests. In the room there was a palpable air of excitement, because there were only a few things that unencrypted messages could mean, and if they eliminated virus then aliens was the most likely answer - and that was an exciting answer. 

The room was silent except for the sound of typing (though Combeferre couldn’t tell, with the blood rushing in his ears) and all backs were turned to each other. The excitement penetrated every pore of the room - the department was usually a well-oiled machine with Feuilly as its official head, but now it was a single entity. 

Slowly, methodically, they completed tests and each came up clean. When it was finished they had worked through two breaks but nobody was tired. Feuilly played the broadcasts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras’ tablet buzzed with messages - first from Feuilly, then from Combeferre. Both senior communications officers had missed their standard report times, so he expected that the messages would be of at least some importance. At least, he hoped so. 

Sullenly, he pressed “Show All”.

 

**COMMUNICATIONS - S. FEUILLYRS 4:30:29-19/09/2528**

**Captain.**

**Apologies for missed report - be assured it was important. Unencrypted transmissions intercepted @ BS 8:12:00, time since was used to check for viruses. None found.**

**I believe that the transmission is from an alien culture - appeared to be series of monologues in unrecognisable language.**

 

**COMMUNICATIONS - B. COMBEFERRERS 4:37:49:-19/09/2528**

**Enjolras,**

**I am sorry for the missing report, my time was better spent however. I assume you have received Feuilly’s report? I am working on decoding the presumed alien language (with absolutely no headway). I will probably not be at dinner, but I’ll be at our quarters by the start of GS.**

 

Enjolras leant back into his chair. He smiled hugely, inanely, filled with the certainty now that the crew of the Musain were what they set out to be - pioneers, bringing new knowledge to the human race and to whatever race they were to be communicating with. 

In any case, it would be best for the Musain to make first contact - it would take months for a government vessel from the nearest spaceport to get there; even for a wix as powerful as Prouvaire it had taken weeks. Besides, a government vessel would be armed. Better to make a positive impression of humanity and prove that humans could be reasonable - then it would simply be a matter of avoiding legal charges.

 Enjolras checked the trajectory and placed the ship on temporary auto (much as he hated to do so). He began to compose a ship-wide announcement, with the note that anybody who did not wish to be involved could request a shuttle to the nearest port. No action would be taken until all crewmembers had consented.

 Rereading what he had written, he wondered how Grantaire would react to the news. He rewrote a line or two with him in mind.

 Once he was certain of his wording – quite restrained, with the smallest number of puns he could bear – he allowed himself to be disappointed that Combeferre would be absent from dinner. They generally ate together and discussed their days; he would be sad to miss it.

 

* * *

 

Following dinner, people generally retired to various social rooms. Les Amis tended to gather in the room closest to the medical bay, as Joly was the CMO and tended to put herself on call until the end of the shift following her own. More often than not, Lesgles joined her. Enjolras could not wait for the evening – there would only be one topic that any would discuss and he was excited.

 Of course he was excited! A new civilisation, an entirely new culture, nothing like anything they could possibly have encountered before – this was what they were searching for, somebody else in the void; this was going to have everyone thrilled, certainly!

 He was certain about everyone except for Grantaire, at least. Grantaire would voice the concerns they all had, but it wasn’t necessary. They _knew_ the risks, Grantaire knew they knew the risks, but he was still going to voice them. It was supremely irritating.

 What made it even more so was Enjolras’ – thing. His crush. On Grantaire.

 The crush was not going anywhere. He had determined this, and he would carry this out. It was impractical, what he wanted, and impracticalities might survive around him, might survive around Combeferre, but Grantaire? Even certainties barely survived around him.

He was happy with Combeferre as it was, and the crush really complicated very little. He doubted Grantaire was even aware of it. Sometimes he doubted Grantaire was even aware of his own feelings, and they were much –

 He turned back to his panel and removed the autopilot. It might be perfectly safe, but he did not trust it.

  

 

* * *

 

 A group comprised mostly of most of the senior crewmembers of _the Musain_ – Les Amis – was gathered in a room decorated like an old “post-modernist” bar. Prouvaire sometimes got bored, and changed the social rooms for hir amusement. The chairs were of a variety of heights and shapes. On any other day, Bahorel and Feuilly would be fighting over the high black one, but Feuilly was absent and Bahorel was certainly not worried. Just curious.

 Feuilly and Enjolras entered late.

Bahorel did not sigh from relief, he just coincidentally breathed a little easier. Feuilly looked high-strung, but that was not a worry really. They probably had gotten excited about the existence of space travel again; it was a bi-weekly occurrence.

Bahorel didn’t think it would be anything like what Enjolras next said. The words took a moment to penetrate his head, implausible as they were, but he heard them loud as day.

“We think we’ve found an alien civilisation - Feuilly intercepted the signal.” Enjolras was grinning, and Feuilly was grinning - nobody was not smiling.

(Grantaire wasn’t, at first, but nobody could ever resist eye-contact with a grinning Enjolras, especially when the eye-contact is unexpected.)

 


End file.
